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<title>you carry my fears as the heavens set fire by voided_space</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809985">you carry my fears as the heavens set fire</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/voided_space/pseuds/voided_space'>voided_space</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Feelings Realization, Light Angst, M/M, don't mind me just projecting onto mcyt characters to cope with my own feelings, i forgot george was colourblind until halfway through writing this, return of my vague descriptive writing style, so ignore that plothole thanks, the second realisation is the one about dream sorry if it's confusing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:33:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>593</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25809985</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/voided_space/pseuds/voided_space</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The realisation this time was so fast, so sudden, so incredibly different from the last that it left George breathless, lost in his painted skies.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you carry my fears as the heavens set fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is based on my own experiences falling for close friends ahaha </p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been a slow realisation, the last time.</p><p>So slow, like a sunrise creeping over the horizon at a glacial pace, time stretching on past the realms of finity before finally, finally, its rays broke through the dusk of night, the moon quietly gathering her silvery beams and slinking back to the darkness to give way to the blinding dawn. The dawn had lit his sky so beautifully it filled his heart with warmth, a feeling captured in the delicate brushstrokes of the clouds, fiery orange blending and blurring into pink and gold, a softness reminiscent of a blanket fresh from the dryer; it cradled him in the masterpiece painted in the atmosphere - his heart the paintbrush, himself the artist.</p><p>A lovestruck fool of an artist, filled with inspiration for the wrong muse.</p><p>“I only see you as a friend, I’m sorry.”</p><p>It hurt so, so much.</p><p>Healing took time, of course, but it came to him easily as an evening faded into night, royal blue to inky black, as he wiped the colours from the sky, washed his paintbrush of its pink-stained emotions, slipped a sheet over the sunrise-splattered canvas and hid it away. In an attic somewhere, maybe. Or maybe given away, handed to someone else to place on a wall, or in a museum, or anywhere it would be more than a painful reminder of a landscape he couldn’t allow himself to appreciate anymore. Not like how he used to appreciate it, anyway.</p><p>His sky was clear now, the shadowy shapes of clouds only drifting by occasionally; not a pain and not a comfort, just there. Just existing, like everything else. His sky was clear and dark and filled with stars. Nothing like the sunrise, but each pinprick of twinkling light made him smile with fondness, a beauty of a different kind that lifted both his mood and his paintbrush. His brushstrokes were careful this time, dancing over clean canvases in a practised waltz; safe, secure, sure of himself.</p><p>It was so sudden, this time.</p><p>Late-night scrolling, his screen dim in comparison to the stars above him. A tweet from <i>him</i>, nothing out of the ordinary really. A casual comment from a close friend. So why, this time, did it feel different? Why did it make him pause in his thought and movement?</p><p>He looked up at his twinkling stars, his comfort in the dark, and an explosion tore through his sky. A blast so sudden, so different from last time, a supernova blindingly bright that ripped his inky nightscape into a million pieces, crumbled it into dust as light and colour cast his cautious methodology to the wind, his dance, his painting terrifyingly fast, intense, breathtaking in its beauty, an eruption in rainbow colours that rippled around and through him, that left him breathless and trembling even when it subsided. He looked down at the new artwork in his shaking hands. Its paint was still drying, it was still so, so fragile. But it was there, he had painted it, he could recognise his brushstrokes no matter how loose, messy, free they were. It was his.</p><p>He looked up at the sky again. The sunrise was over, the dawn was gone. He was surrounded by bright, clear blue, a vast, bright expanse interrupted only by the clouds, smudges of pure white peppered around mimicking the freckles across <i>his</i> cheeks. It had been so sudden this time, but the realisation felt as familiar as if the last time had happened yesterday. </p><p>His paintbrush, his heart, was stained pink again.</p>
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